


Two to Tango

by adrianna_m_scovill



Series: Create Your Own Context [5]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Tango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 04:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14097591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: A request for Barba teaching Benson to tango.





	Two to Tango

“Argentine tango?”

Benson arched an eyebrow at him. “Does it seem like I know how to tango?” she asked. “Argentine, or otherwise?”

Barba grinned down at her and held out a hand.

Benson looked at his hand for a moment, then back at his face.

“It’s natural to be scared the first time,” he said. He caught his tongue between his teeth to keep from laughing at the expression on her face. “You gonna reject me in front of all these witnesses, Lieutenant?” he asked, his voice breaking with amusement.

“Fine,” she said, putting her hand in his. “But if I bruise your toes—”

He pulled her up and forward, surprising her, and her breath caught as she almost smashed into him. At the last second, she put her left hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

“Good,” he said. “Keep this other elbow bent and locked right here,” he said, still holding her hand as he tugged her right arm into position. “This will be your frame when I turn you back around.”

“Turn me back—” she started, but before she could finish the question, he slid his hand to her hip, pushed against the hand of the arm he’d just instructed her to keep locked, and she suddenly found herself spinning. Their joined hands passed over her head and then he was behind her, their feet staggered. His right hand was at her waist, his fingers splayed over the front of her hip. With his left hand, he tugged her fingers and straightened her arm.

His warm breath fanned her ear as he murmured, “Bend your knees.”

“Barba—”

“Trust me,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear. As she bent her knees, he slid his foot against hers, gently nudging her into a step. She felt his thigh against hers, and the pressure of his fingers at her hip, and he steered her feet with his with an ease that boggled her mind. She was barely aware of what she was doing; her body did what his told it to do, and they were on the dance floor, turning in unison, and all she could think about was how warm his body was behind hers, how solid his hand felt at her waist.

He turned her abruptly, without warning, saying softly, “Frame.”

She didn’t have time to think. She grabbed his shoulder again, and he pulled her right arm into position. She was off-balance, and she moved a foot to brace herself, but he caught her foot with his toes, sliding her shoe across the floor. She met his eyes, unable to breathe. He was no longer grinning. She kept her knees bent, but her legs felt unsteady.

The muscles in his thigh tightened against hers, and he pushed her foot outward, turning his hips so that her body had to follow. His hand was spread against her lower back, the heat of his fingers burning through the fabric of her blouse. His eyes held hers, and she couldn’t look away. Her initial instinct—to look at her feet—disappeared; she didn’t need to look. Every muscle in her body was suddenly attuned to his. Every part of his body was steering hers.

When he rocked his hips forward and then stepped back, she followed him instinctively, even before the pressure of his fingertips changed. When she felt his thigh tense, she stepped back, and his lips curved into a smile. She felt his toes touch hers, and his knee press against hers, and she shifted her weight a moment before he lifted her leg—out and back—with his own. She laughed breathlessly, and his smile widened as he turned their bodies with a swivel of his hips.

He pulled her hand to the back of his neck, holding her gaze as he left her hand there and trailed his fingers up the length of her arm, over and down her shoulder, along her ribcage, settling his warm palm against her waist. His other hand slid over the curve of her hip, to the back of her thigh, and she swallowed. He lifted her leg with a gentle tug and she curved it over his as he bent his knee and shifted his weight forward.

“Keep your toes behind my ankle,” he said, softly, holding her gaze, and the rest remained unspoken: _trust me_.

He leaned into his bent leg, and her thigh slid further up his. His other leg straightened behind him as he shifted, and she kept her foot with his, as instructed, her leg along his, trusting him to support her as she leaned back against his hand. She slipped her fingers into his hair, her palm on the nape of his neck, as her other hand moved over his shoulder to splay against his upper back.

He stopped, for several seconds suspending almost all of their weight on his bent leg. She could feel his muscles bunched against her inner thigh, and she had no hope of hiding the flush of desire staining her cheeks. His face was inches from hers, and every part of her body seemed to be intimately joined with his—even the parts that weren’t touching.

He drew back slowly, pulling her upright as he straightened, and she could see that his cheeks had darkened, too. His pupils were dilated, his lips parted, and she felt a rush of exhilaration swirling with her arousal.

He urged her backward, and her hand returned to his shoulder. In a moment, she was back in frame, their bodies barely touching, and she felt a stab of disappointment. She saw his smirk and knew that he’d read her look. He wasn’t fooling anyone with the cocky expression, though—she could read his desire as plainly as he could read hers.

She slid her hand up his shoulder to the side of his neck, pressing her thumb lightly against his throat. She could feel their mingled pulses, and his gaze dropped to her lips. She realized, belatedly, that the song had ended. She and Barba were standing, unmoving, in the middle of the dance floor.

He cleared his throat. “That wasn’t exactly a tango,” he murmured, his lips barely moving. After a few seconds, seeming to realize he was staring at her mouth from beneath heavy lids, he dragged his gaze up to hers.

“No?” she asked.

“That was—”

“More like foreplay, I’d say,” Rollins remarked, passing them by with a wink and a smile.

Barba didn’t look at Rollins, but he pulled his hands back, lowering them to his sides. The movement was slow, reluctant. Benson didn’t immediately withdraw, though. She kept her hand at his neck, brushing the pad of her thumb against his throat as he swallowed. She knew she should probably be embarrassed, but she didn’t care about who might be watching.

“I need a drink,” she finally muttered.

He laughed, a rumbling sound from his chest that made her belly tighten.

“But not here. Too many people,” she added, still not looking around.

He bent his head closer. “Am I invited?” he asked, quietly, with his lips near her jaw. He looked sideways and caught her gaze, his eyes just inches from hers.

“You still need to teach me a proper tango,” she said, and his lips quirked into a crooked smile. He reached up and covered her hand on his neck, curling his fingers around hers, and a moment later he was spinning her away from him. She laughed, a surprised and breathless sound, as the world careened around her.

Her ankles crossed, and she felt herself falling, but there was no fear—only exhilaration. As she started to tip backward, Barba was there behind her, pulling her body flush against his, and his lips were once more at her ear.

“I’ll follow your lead, Lieutenant,” he murmured.

She straightened and stepped forward, putting space between them. She reached back and took his hand, and he followed her off the dance floor.

 


End file.
